


He's married?

by J_Q



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sammi never happened, just fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: A general request was made by lovely members of my FB page for another little story inspired around this conversation:Ian: Come on, Lip, I didn’t drink that much last night.Lip: You were flirting with Mickey.Ian: So what? He’s my boyfriend.Lip: You asked him if he was single. Then cried when he said he wasn’t.Set in our favorite AU, where Sammi never happened.





	1. Crush

Ian Gallagher stared at the arm attached to his body and wondered how it had gotten covered in a dark grey wool suit jacket and light blue dress shirt he didn’t recognize. Was that a fucking cuff link, he wondered, looking closer at the sapphire sparkling in the overhead light? The arm in question was currently holding him up. It seemed that the earth had shifted on its side cause he was sure the floor was coming up to meet him.

Maybe he should find a chair and sit down. He reached out his other arm, similarly adorned in fancy clothes, toward the folding metal chair, which was deceptively closer than it first appeared as the beer bottle he was clutching made a horrible clanging noise when it collided with the back of the chair.

Oops, he thought, pretty sure I’m not supposed to be drinking. He remembered getting shit for that. But who’d give him shit? Gallaghers were proud drinkers. He closed his eyes in concentration, but immediately popped them open when the earth made another rotation. So that’s not a good idea. Keep eyes open, he made a mental note of that and gestured with his index finger for good measure.

Another fancy suit jacket came into view and he reached his already lifted index finger toward it, poking the owner of the suit in the chest. “Nish shoot, er, suit. Yeah.”

“You mentioned that. Like a thousand times.” The suit sat down on the chair beside him.

“I did? Why’d I do that?”

“Cause you're Bridezilla.”

“I am? Tha’ makes no sense. Ha’ you been drinking?” Ian finally looked up into Lip’s amused face, but had to pull back as his eyes crossed unable to focus. He turned back to the room, blinking several times then zeroing in on something that caught his eye. Sitting forward until his elbows rested on his knees, he closed one eye to get a better focus and his heart squeezed a little. Another suit, one that matched his own. Dark hair cut short. He watched closely as a hand came up to cover a laugh.

Then Ian sat back suddenly, the beer bottle still miraculously clutched in his hand made a grand sweep of the room until it was aimed at the dark-haired man in the suit. “Lip,” Ian stage whispered. “I’ve’a confession t’ make.”

“Can’t wait, little brother.”

Ian’s nose collided with Lip’s ear. “I’ve gotta a crush.”

“No? On who? Wait, lemme guess.” He scanned the room. “Um, is it Kev?”

“No!”

“Iggy?”

“What? Yer a dumb dumb. It’s h’ brother, silly.”

“No shit? Mickey? He’s gay?”

“Ssshh,” Ian pushed his finger into Lip’s bottom lip. “He wouldn’a want the whole bar t’know that shit.”

“Right, he sure wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, he’s kinna in a closet. Imma tryna r’spect that.”

“That’s good, Ian. He definitely has everyone fooled. Keeping a tight lid on that and all.”

“I’s a shecret. But I know.” Ian was thinking about how much he’d like to go over to Mickey and hold his hand, but they were in public and Mickey would get mad. “I love him.”

Lip patted his knee. “That’s good, Ian. Cause it’d be kinda awkward if you didn’t.”

“Like a lot. Like this.” He opened his arms wide and Lip pushed one of them out of his face. “H’much is that, Lip?”

“A lot.”

“But, like, in num’ers or somethin’? Yer smart at num’ers, right?”

“Six?”

“Pfft,” Ian spat in his face. “Mickey’s perfec’ Lip. Wha’s a perfec’ number for perfec’ Mickey?”

“Well, in number theory, a perfect number is a positive integer that is equal to the sum of its—”

“Pi! He’s like pi!”

“Oh, good god,” Lip lit a cigarette.

Ian released a deep sigh and leaned into Lip’s shoulder. “Maybe one day, Imma tell him how I feel.”

“I’m sure he’d love that. You could write him a poem.”

After nodding vigorously for a moment, Ian added another item to his list of movements to avoid tonight. “A poem, yeah, or a shon-snonet—”

“A sonnet?”

“Mmm, what’s that?”

“A 14-line poem.”

“14 things I love about Mickey Milkovich. Tha’ should be a shnap.” He lifted his hand to snap his fingers but got distracted by the tinkling light reflecting off his cuff link. “I could tell him ‘is eyes ‘r as blue as a summer sky.”

“Gimme that fuckin’ beer, man,” Lip responded yanking the bottle out of his hand. Then guzzling the remainder.

“’K so tha’s one. Umm, two,” Ian raised two fingers into Lip’s face. “His lips. They’re real soft, soft like, umm, wuz somethin’ soft?”

“My dick, right now.”

“Oh, 'is dick is as—”

“Ian!”

“Mm, what?”

They both watched as Mickey bent over to pick up the napkin Vee dropped on the floor. As Ian opened his mouth to continue expounding on Mickey’s attributes, Lip let out a sigh of resignation. But instead Ian turned to him with a frown, “Lip?”

“What?”

“Why’s Mickey dressed like that?”

“It’s his wedding day, Ian.”

And Ian started to cry, big fat sad tears. “He’s married?”

 


	2. No More Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well cause ya'll asked and I'd rather do that than anything else. But I'm not even sure if it makes sense anymore cause I may or may not be as drunk as Ian...it's important for me to be in character when I'm writing. :)

“He’s married?” Ian repeated between sobs. “B-but he’s mine.”

“Ian,” Lip said slowly and clearly. “He’s married to—”

Without warning, Ian stood up sending the metal chair clattering backwards. “I object!” he shouted. “Is’re still time f’ me to object, Lip?”

“Yeah, I think you should be good,” Lip laughed. “You should definitely object and maybe do it a little louder so Mickey can hear you.”

“But I was tryna be a good shecret boyfriend. D’you think he’ll be mad?” Ian was waving his hand in Mickey’s direction. “I got ‘nother shecret. Mickey has a temper.”

“That secret ain’t a secret,” Lip mumbled, then tapped Ian on his arm to get his full attention. “You know, I really think it’s time for you to let Mickey know how you feel. In fact, I think everyone here should know. Make your love public, man.”

“Really?” Ian turned his attention back to Mickey and he knew he was gonna do it. If he didn’t let Mickey know, he could lose him forever. At this thought, some vague memories tried to creep into his brain, but he pushed them aside. He would not be distracted. “Imma do it. Wish m’ luck, Lip!” And with that he planted a sloppy kiss on Lip’s lips.

“Pillows!” Ian shouted. “Tha’s what Mickey’s lips feel like.”

After one false start, Ian was on his way toward the centre of the bar where he stopped abruptly but was surprised that no one seemed to notice. He looked around for some way to get their attention.

“Can I get attention’s of everyone? I jus’ want everyone here t’—”

“Ian,” Mickey stepped forward but Ian waved him off.

“S’okay, Mickey. Trust me.” He looked into Mickey’s eyes and forgot what he was saying. “Ummm…jus’ like a summer day, Mick. Pretty.”

“What the hell is the matter with you, Ian? Did you get your hands on a second fuckin’ beer?”

Now Ian was watching those yummy lips move but they were turning down not up like before. Mickey has a temper. Oh shit, he thought maybe he told someone about that. “Oh, Mick, why d’yer pillows look all frowny?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ian lifted his finger to try to re-arrange Mickey’s face back to its happy arrangement, but only managed to poke Mickey in the chin.

“My sonnet.”

“Holy shit. You’ve lost your goddamn mind or something?” he asked swatting Ian’s hand away.

“What? No ‘is 14 things I love. Tha’s only 2. Why d’I always get stuck at 2?” He paused to reflect. “Oh yeah, yer dick is 3.”

“My --?” Mickey glanced around like he was worried about people hearing about his dick, but Ian saw those pillows smile a little. Ian smiled too until he remembered what his original mission was.

“I object!” He hollered.

“What the fuck are you yelling about now? Object to what?”

“Lip thinks I sh’ object to the public.”

Now Mickey’s summer sky eyes were looking kinda stormy. “Oh, Lip had something to do with this?”

Ian glanced over his shoulder at his brother but remembered, a little too late, that turning was a no-no. Once he had righted himself, he noticed Mickey’s fingers on his elbow and the “F” finger made him smile again. “No, silly, ’s not Lip you’re marrying. Wait, who ‘r y’ marrying anyway?”

“I think it’s time to get you home.”

“Wait! NO,” Ian was in a panic now. “But I-I love you.”

“Ian,” Mickey began.

“Please hear m’ out!” Ian watched as Mickey licked his favorite pillow and he wanted to lick it too. “I love yer pillows.”

Ian could hear howling going on behind him, but remembered in time not to turn around. “Will you marry me instead, Mickey?”

“I am married to you, you numbskull.”

“Oh! Is tha’ who y’ married today?”

“Gimme strength.”

“So if w’ married, does ever one know yer,” he lowers his voice, “gay?”

“Yes, Ian, everyone knows that shit.”

Ian’s smile lit up the room. “No more shecrets.”

Mickey’s pillows turned up. “No more shecrets.”


	3. 14 things I love about Milky Mickeyvich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could't leave poor Mickey hanging on his wedding night...and matchst_ck really needed Ian to drink some water. So now the trilogy is complete.

“Let’s go home, Ian.”

“But i’s yer wedding, Mickey. Rem’ber?”

“It’s your wedding, too,” Mickey replied adding “asshole” under his breath.

Ian’s eyes got big at that. “Tha’s right. But I don’t rem’ber?” And he was off again, big fat sad tears. How could he forget his wedding day!

“Hey,” Mickey rubbed Ian’s arms and grabbed his attention. “Hey, you were sober when we got married, so I’m sure you’ll remember it all tomorrow.”

“’m I drunk now?” He also couldn’t remember drinking.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

Mickey looked so concerned that Ian wanted to cheer him up. “Ya wanna dance?”

“No, I wanna go home.”

So dancing wasn’t going to cheer Mickey up. Oh, right, Ian thought, he had the perfect thing. “C’ I tell you m’ poem about 14 parts of Milky Mickeyvich?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Mickey began. Ian peered closely into Mickey’s face and he looked happier cause the lines around his mouth disappeared.

“I’s a deal.”

“What’s a deal?”

“I don’ know.” The lines were back and Ian tried pressing his lips together to mimic them.

“Listen to me, Ian. Up here,” Mickey pointed to his eyes and Ian followed with his own. “Each time you do something I ask, you can tell me one of your poem things you love about me.”

“Oh,” Ian lifted his eyebrows and tried to waggle them. “You gon’ be my boss daddy?”

“Your what?”

“’r these dirty things yer gon’ tell me to do?”

“No.”

Ian’s lower lip slipped out and he crossed his arms because that just sounded like he was gonna get bossed around.

Kev slid a tall glass of lukewarm water toward Mickey who placed it in Ian’s hand. Mickey looked so hopeful that Ian decided to play the boss daddy game even if there were no dirty bits. He drank the whole glass of water, only spilling a few drops on his new suit.

“Tell me your first thing you love.”

“Mm, I love you.”

“Yes, we’ve established that shit already. You were gonna tell me something you love about me.”

“Oh ya! The summer sky!” Ian beamed at Mickey expecting to see an equally bright reaction but Mickey seemed to be frowny again. “My summer sky ‘s gone.” He grabbed Mickey’s tie and yanked him forward. “Show m’ the sky,” he demanded. His lips caressed Mickey’s and when he pulled back Mickey was looking at him. “There it ‘s. Pretty.”

Ian watched Mickey’s smile return. “Oh ‘n tha’s the other one! Soft as pillows.” And he rubbed his thumb over Mickey’s bottom lip, while sloppily licking his own lip in response.

Mickey pulled his tie out of Ian’s death grip. “You’re cheatin’ Ian. Now you owe me one.”

“Yessir,” Ian replied with an army salute.

“Turn around to face the room and thank everyone for coming.” As Ian began, Mickey added, “Slowly, idiot.”

Ian scanned the faces in the crowd, smiling hugely. “Thank you all for comin’ to Mickey’s wedding.” And he bowed before remembering that all unnecessary movements should be avoided. After the room settled, he waved a proper good-bye.

“Oh Mickey, w’ both know wha’ num’er 3 is,” Ian snickered looking around for Mickey who was standing behind him holding is coat. They turned in a circle for moment until Mickey stopped and let Ian catch up.

“Put your arm in here, jackass,” Mickey was trying to marry up Ian’s hand with the jacket hole when Fiona arrived and steadied Ian’s arm herself. “Thanks.”

“You gonna be okay to drive, Mickey?” She was smoothing Ian’s jacket lapels and looking worriedly into his eyes. Why was Fiona here, Ian wondered. She looked all frowny too. Was she worried about him going out with Mickey?

“Mickey has h’ driver’s license, _Mom_ ,” Ian snarked rolling his eyes. “He got it, jus’ not on a first time.”

“Ian, man, come on.”

“’S’okay, Mickey. No more shecrets, ‘mem’er?” He smiled at Mickey and whispered, “Num’er 3 is your dick.” Then he turned back to Fiona. “S’Mickey told the driver test lady to kiss his fuckin’—”

“Ian, I’m ordering you to walk out the door.”

“Okay! I got’a go. Happy birthday, Fiona. You’re the best big sister ever i’a whole wide world.” He would have continued rambling but Fiona pressed a kiss to his face and turned him toward Mickey. “Now, I get t’ tell you stuff. Num’er 4…’n 5 ‘n 6 are all yer ass ‘cuz there so many parts ‘t like ‘bout it. There’s…”

“BYE EVERYONE!” Mickey shouted startling Ian.

Once they were out on the sidewalk, Ian blinked several times trying to see in the darkness. “’r you scared a the dark, Mickey?” He stopped abruptly. “’r you scared a anythin’, Mickey?”

“Keep walking, tough guy. I’m scared of what you’re gonna be like in the morning.” Ian could feel Mickey’s hands through his jacket pushing him forward so he started walking again.

“Tha’s num’er 7. Fuck u-up, fuckers. Yer mouth’s a potty, but I like it. ‘m safe with Mickey.”

Ian felt Mickey’s warm fingers slide between his. By the time his butt was safely belted into the front seat of the car, he’d told Mickey numbers 8 (his legs), 9 (his swagger) and 10 (his cigarettes). As they passed the smoke between them, Ian sighed. “I should drink more of’n. I feel great!”

“Let’s revisit this conversation tomorrow.”

“Oh, tha’s num’er 11,” Ian smirked at Mickey.

“Oh yeah. What’s number 11?”

“Yer sunny disposition.”

“Fuck you.”

“I rest m’ case officer.” Suddenly Ian shot out of his seat. “Oh m’ god, can w’ stop at Sizzler? ‘m so hungry.”

“It’s getting late, Ian.”

“You us’d ta be fun, not a party pooper.” Memories were crowding into Ian’s brain now. “Mem’er when we went to Sizzler on a date?”

“Course I do.” Mickey gave him the side eye. “Do you?”

“You‘re fun back then. ‘mem’er when you were fun? Imma gonna take one a your num’ers away.”

Ian watched Mickey shake his head but also smirk a little. “How about Mcdonald’s?” he asked Ian. The car turned into a parking lot and Ian saw the golden arches as they pulled into the drive-thru.

“Okay, you c’ keep yer num’ers. You like yer num’ers, don’ you Mickey?”

“Yeah, Ian, I do. What do you want? Nuggets?”

It took longer to order than was completely necessary because Ian kept badgering the faceless voice for “one a those sparkly unicorn drinks” which the bored, tired employee felt was beyond his job description to provide. They compromised on a chocolate shake.

When they received their food, Ian jammed his hand in the bag pulling out a nugget. “Les’ park ‘n eat. Like w’re on a date.”

“What the hell? Why not?”

“Tha’s num’er 12.” Ian tried to stuff a third nugget into his mouth. “Yer nice t’ me. A’ways.” Bringing the straw up to his lips he paused and leaned closer to Mickey. “S’metimes yer mean ta oth’r people. ‘mem’er the driver test lady af’er you told her to kiss yer fuckin’ ass? She w’ ticking all the boxes on her clipboard. I saw y’ grab it ‘n write stuff on it. Whad’ya write Mickey?”

Mickey smiled at Ian. “Have a nice day…” Ian narrowed his eyes waiting. “…in hell…” Ian tilted his head expectantly. “…burning for eternity.” Ian finally slurped his milkshake, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “In hindsight, that last part was probably unnecessary. It’s implied.”

While Mickey puffed on his smoke, flicking ashes out the window, Ian finished eating and eventually laid his head back against the headrest with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Mickey.”

Flicking his butt out the window, Mickey shifted in his seat to face Ian, mirroring his position. “Sobering up?”

Ian nodded slowly. “Did I ruin the wedding?”

“Nah, wedding’s ain’t really my thing. But we did manage to do all the shit you wanted to do before you got wasted.”

“Like what? Tell me what we did.”

“There were about a million toasts, which I now realize was a bad fuckin’ idea. You shoulda had water.” But his pillows and his summer sky weren’t frowny at all. “And, you made me stand around while people took pictures of us cutting a fuckin’ cake like we’re toddlers just learning to use a fuckin’ knife. I even let you put a chunk of cake on my goddamn nose. Never live that shit down.”

Ian nodded happily. “And we had our dance?”

“I guess you could call what we did dancing. No one else is gonna call it that though.”

“Was there music?”

“Yes.”

“Were we touching?”

“Yes.”

“We were dancing.”

“Dumbass.”

“What about our wedding night?”

“We’ll do that another night.” He held up his hand when Ian started to tear up. “We banged twice this morning. Had to keep getting fuckin’ dressed.”

“Oh, so number 6 could use a rest anyway, huh?”

“Yeah, your number 1 put it through the ringer this morning.”

Ian’s eyes were closed more than open now. Mickey leaned in to kiss him and Ian inhaled deeply in contentment.

“Mmm, number 13.”

“I wondered when you’d get to that one.”

“More please.” They did some nuzzling and pecking for a few minutes. “Oh, number 3 is saying hello.”

“Don’t go gettin’ your ass all horny. You’re goin’ to sleep when we get home.”

“I love you, Mickey.” Ian rubbed his hand over his husband’s cheek. “That’s number 14.”

“What’s number 14?”

“You.”


End file.
